Hotel California
by IcedFireFrenzy
Summary: After another night of locking himself in his hotel room because of the constant parties, Kyle Broflovski tells his story of how he found himself a prisoner of the alluring Hotel California. Based off of the song by the Eagles.
1. Prologue

**_Hello guys, IcedFireFrenzy here with a new fic! This is pretty much the story told in_ Hotel California _by the Eagles, but probably a bit more cynical._**

 ** _Anyway, the first chapter is a short prologue, somewhat explaining why Kyle Broflovski is telling his story. My writing is more that a bit rusty, so it might not be the strongest piece I've written._**

* * *

" _Welcome to the Hotel California!_ " I hear everyone shout once more. I've been here for years, never leaving its premises more than four times since my initial arrival. I try to sleep, yet their incessant shouting keeps me awake. I know I should be out there with everyone, welcoming the unlucky guest, but I simply can't bring myself to move. However, there is always someone who will grab the guests—if that's what you can really them—to join the celebration.

"Hey Kyle!" I hear a person shout, his knuckles knocking gently on the door. The sound of the raps increase steadily, hoping to catch my attention. "Hey Kyle, could I come in?"

"Just a second," I answer groggily. I find myself standing up and walking toward the door, my mood somewhat sour. I open the door and see a man with oddly-cut blond hair and a chipper smile. Recognizing him immediately, I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. "What do you want, Butters?"

"We got a new guest!" he replies loudly, his voice quickly being drowned out by the moving party. "Won't you come and welcome him with the rest of us?"

"No," I say sternly, tired of the constant parties and trapping the naïve newcomers. The party only get louder as it moves closer, rendering Butters' reply useless. "What?" I shout, in hopes of him hearing me, but instead he waves his hand in a dismissive manner. Seeing the blond walk away, I sigh and close my door. I walk to the desk near my bed and turn on the light, looking at the dust and papers collecting on it. With nothing better to do, I pull out my chair and sit, preparing to jot down my own journey. I grab the one pen on my desk and begin to write on a blank sheet of paper.


	2. Verse 1

**Hecking Christ, it shouldn't take this long to write a chapter. I apologize for the long wait for this. My life has been pretty hectic lately, and it has taken everything out of me. I've also been writing too many ficus at once, which means that _nothing_ has been getting updated lately.**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoy this!**

* * *

I was always destined to be trapped in California. I had unwillingly moved to San Francisco once, and I had once more planned to move there when I was twenty. In fact, I had made a pact with Stan Marsh, Eric Cartman, and Kenny McCormick when we were all eleven to go there.

It was on Stan's eleventh birthday when we had chosen California. We were all sick of the hellhole that was South Park, but we knew we could not truly leave until we were adults. We figured that any place could have been better than this; the farther away, the better, we thought. So, as we sat at a round table in Whistlin' Willy's with lukewarm pizza in front of us, we began plan our eventual escape.

"Man, this place sucks," Cartman began, putting his right elbow on the table. Within seconds, his jaw was resting on his fist. I roll my eyes at his childish behavior, but I could understand his sentiment.

"Which place?" I asked him, "Whistlin' Willy's or South Park as a whole?"

"Both." He leaned into his chair, crossing his arms with a pout.

"I'm sorry," Stan began, exasperated by the big-boned kid, "if you're gonna do nothing but bitch about how everything sucks, you can just go."

"I'm not leaving, but you have to admit, South Park sucks. I wanna leave."

"I don't think anyone could deny that," Kenny told him, his hood uncharacteristically down. "But why talk about it now?"

"I don't know," Cartman admitted, shrugging a little. "Just couldn't think of anything else to say. But since it's on my mind, I was thinking that with the exception of Kyle, we should all leave this town together." Hearing my exclusion, I gave him the finger. He merely scoffed at my action. Once more, I found myself rolling my eyes.

"Dude, we're all eleven now. Are the excluding-me jokes really necessary anymore?" I asked him scathingly.

"Brah, you know what a joke is, right? I could never leave out my favorite Jew." I gave him an unamused look, but he continued to speak. "I'm seriously though, we should all leave South Park at some point together."

"What gave you this idea?" Stan asked. "You aren't exactly the greatest when it comes to anything."

"Fuck you too, Stan!" Cartman shouts, "I have good ideas!"

"Sure you do."

"Whatever. But think about it, if we leave by the time we're twenty or something, we won't ever have to look back."

"Why twenty?" Kenny inquired. "Won't we be in college or have jobs?"

"Two words for you," Cartman began, leaning in Kenny's direction, "community. College."

"I'm pretty sure that won't be happening," I said. With my own ideas in mind for my future, I could not even fathom the idea of going on to community college.

"True. I don't even think Kenny even has money for community college." Heavily irritated, Kenny threw a breadstick at the fat boy. Within a second of making contact, Cartman began to cry. He ran out of his chair, crying for his mom. For a short moment, there was silence. We had all started to think about Cartman's plan seriously. While I didn't care for the idea of community college, I wasn't exactly opposed to it either. It could have been worth it if it meant leaving this redneck mountain town.

"So," Stan drawled, breaking the silence, "if we do go through with this, where would we go?"

"Hmm," Kenny thought, "California?" At that, we all laughed.

"I'm sorry, but the smug nearly killed me when I lived there," I said once I calmed down.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Stan's," I deadpanned. My raven-haired friend gave me a bird, but I dismissed it with a chuckle. A second after I laughed, Cartman returned. His eyes were slightly puffy from the crying.

"So, what did I miss?" the fat boy asked, picking up a now cold slice of cheese pizza.

"We agreed that we needed to leave," Stan quickly summarized, "but we just need to think of a place to go to."

"California?"

"Seriously?" we all asked him.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked, shrugging defensively. "It's not like we're going to what's left of San Francisco or something."

"Still dude," I asserted, "remember how I nearly died the last time I was there?"

"Yeah I 'member."

"Don't forget all of the homeless people we sent there," Kenny interjected.

"True, but they probably went to the hole that was San Francisco," Stan added. "I'd imagine that we'd be fine anywhere else."

"Come on, dude!" I blurted, attracting the looks of nearby patrons. "I'm not risking my damn life again going there." I crossed my arms with a small huff. I knew I was being childish, but I couldn't have cared less.

"Look Jew," Cartman started, straining to reach my shoulder, "there isn't any other place in America where we could actually go. Nebraska's full of wheat, Utah has Mormons, Wyoming is—"

"I get your point," I interjected. I slapped his hand off me and watched him recoil. I was being stubborn, but California had given me nothing but trouble over the years. Why should I have agreed to go? I hated the place, and the feeling was most likely mutual.

However, there was one part of me that began to see Cartman's point. Come to think of it, There really _was_ no place for us to go. With all of our past antics, the four of us had become notorious in the Great Plains area. We were probably known globally, but they did not have to deal with us on a nearly daily basis. Besides, it's not like we were going to a big city, right?

As if Stan read my mind, he decided to say, "If we all choose California, can we agree to avoid the big cities?"

"Well duh!" Cartman responds with an obnoxious expression. "We could probably find some hick town near the Nevada border."

"Do you realize how hot it is there?" Stan asked. "It's like a fucking desert."

"Can't be worse than July in Denver." At that, we all laughed heartily.

Despite our sentiments for the western state, we decided to go there. We weren't sure where, but if we could all agree on a certain place, then our destiny was set.

Life would not go as planned, however. We became separated, one by one. Stan was the first to leave at the age of 13, following his parents' third divorce. All we knew was that he and his father were "moving west." Next followed Cartman at age 15, running away and choosing to hitchhike to California. Kenny left the next year, tired of his drunken family and their constant mishaps. Even Wendy and Bebe left at the age of 18, going to college within a few miles of each other. That would leave me in Denver, going to a small two-year college. My parents weren't proud of my decision, but it would allow me to leave by my twentieth birthday.

Surprisingly, I graduated on my birthday. I had already packed my stuff into my Prius the night before, so I could leave the next day. I was thankful my parents were okay with my departure, though it was under false pretenses; I told them I was going to transfer to a bigger school. When they became suspicious, I convinced them that I was searching for a school. They could hear my voice quiver in nervousness, but they reluctantly accepted my lie. However, I digress.

I left at midnight, about twelve hours after my graduation. I couldn't bear to see my parents' faces, so I wrote a goodbye note. I took a mug of coffee with me, knowing that I wouldn't be resting until I found California. I remember driving for hours on Interstate 70 before blearily finding the exit to I-15. I was tempted heavily by sleep multiple times, but I was fortunate enough to find my way to a gas station in Mesquite at ten in the morning. I filled my gas tank and bought a couple of energy drinks. My body was going to rebel from all the caffeine intake, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

It didn't take too long for me to find Las Vegas. Since I couldn't gamble or do anything of the likes, I stopped at some stores and bid my time until about four in the afternoon. By that point, I could feel the energy drinks starting to wear off, and I needed to get moving again.

* * *

By the time I reached Primm, the sun was beginning to set. I was exhausted, but I needed to keep going. I wanted to find a place to sleep. To keep myself awake, I rolled down my window and let the cool wind blow through my afro. I was assaulted by the smell of colitas. Due to my lowered inhibitions, the weed was affecting me greatly. By some miracle, I saw a shimmering light in the distance. I thought I was hallucinating until I could see the brightly lit building up close. With my head growing heavy and dimming sight, I knew I had to stop.

I pulled into the unusually large parking lot, seeing a plethora of other cars nearly filling the lot. I found and took a spot near the entrance. Getting out of my car, I noticed the size of the hotel. It was huge and somewhat beige in color. I noticed dim lights in some of the windows, probably created by candles or some kind of energy-saving light. I could also faintly hear music, though I was unable to identify the artist or the genre.

I walked slowly tot he exit, doing everything in my power to stay awake. I don't even remember making it to the entrance, but I do recall being startled by a mission bell. I looked around wildly for the source of the sound, though my search was fruitless. When I brought myself back to my senses, I was once more shocked when I saw a woman by the door. I rubbed my eyes and saw that it was Wendy.

"Wendy?" I said tiredly.

"Kyle?" she replied, just as shocked. "Wow, I wasn't expecting you to come here!"

"I had planned to come to California for nine years." To this day, I don't know why I admitted that to her. "I just need a place to stay for the night."

"You've come to the right place." She opened the door and let us both in. Walking up to the desk, she brought a lighter and a candle. She deftly lit it and gave it to me. I took it with a confused expression, but I was too tired to question her action. Within a second, she took my hand and led me down a corridor. I could hear the music once more, now accompanied with voices. She opened the door and everyone turned our way.

"Welcome to the Hotel California!" everyone greeted. I winced visibly in my haze, not expecting to be bombarded with such a cacophony. I felt Wendy squeeze my hand sympathetically before letting go. I could see clearly some people from South Park. Many of my old friends and classmates were here, as well as Stan's dad. I approached by Stan, who was holding a lei for me. He slipped it over my head and gave me a hug, personally welcoming me back into his life.

" _This could be heaven or hell,_ " I thought to myself.

Little did I know that it would be hell.


End file.
